


As It Should Be

by eirenical (chibi1723)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, Don't Try This At Home, Food Poisoning, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Medical, Medical Professionals, Opium, Outdated Medical Practices, Romantic Friendship, Sick Character, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 04:28:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11478615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi1723/pseuds/eirenical
Summary: Joly smiled, soft and happy, as the tension slowly eased from his body.  “If leaving the city is not a choice, perhaps some cleaner air would suffice?”Bossuet turned and offered his arm, a matching smile touching his lips.  “If a walk in the park is what the doctor orders, then foolish would I be to disobey.”The story could have ended there.  Joly and Bossuet could have had their walk, taken in some fresh air to revitalize their bodies, returned home, and slept the sleep of those confident that they had done all they could to keep themselves well....it did not.





	As It Should Be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shellcollector](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shellcollector/gifts).



> I had so much fun with this request, you have no idea. ^_^ I admit to getting a little carried away with researching plausible medical procedures/treatments/situations that could have occurred in canon era. I hope you enjoy the result! ^_^

As many things often do, it all started with Joly.

Or possibly Bossuet. An astute person might observe that there were hardly many hairs to split between two such beginnings.

One might even, if one was so inclined, argue that it had started with Grantaire.

Regardless of how it started, it ended with Combeferre and trip to the country.

But, we get ahead of ourselves.

Details aside, it started on a hot, hazy evening in August of 1831…

* * *

“I tell you, my friend, we’d all feel better for a trip to the country. The city is full of this dreadful miasma, people taking sick left and right, the hospital is surely to run out of beds at this rate, it’s a wonder anyone can keep their bodies in proper equilibrium in these conditions!”

Bossuet—focused on a pamphlet he was summarizing at Enjolras’ request—let Joly’s words wash over him, only half an ear tuned to what his friend said. Joly had been espousing the virtues of such a trip practically since the temperature of the city first began rising above normal in June and it was a familiar discussion by now. After so many repetitions, Bossuet practically knew the timing of his expected responses by heart. Could he have afforded it, Bossuet might have agreed to the venture simply to ease his friend’s mind. As it was, such indulgences were beyond his meager resources.

“…would not believe the things I have seen on my rounds! Mark my words, Bossuet. If this continues, we’ll see a cholera epidemic before the summer is out!”

Bossuet put the finishing touches on his pamphlet summary just as Joly began pulling at the collar of his shirt. Right on time… Rising from his seat, Bossuet reached out and pulled Joly’s hands from his neck, placing a gentle kiss on the knuckles of each. Once Joly had focused on him, he said, “It saddens me to see you worry so. You know it does.” At Joly’s small moue of distress, Bossuet placed another kiss on the hand still held in his. “Tell me what I can do to ease your mind, short of fleeing the city, and I gladly will I do it.”

Joly smiled, soft and happy, as the tension slowly eased from his body. “If leaving the city is not a choice, perhaps some cleaner air would suffice?”

Bossuet turned and offered his arm, a matching smile touching his lips. “If a walk in the park is what the doctor orders, then foolish would I be to disobey.”

Now completely relaxed in both body and demeanor, Joly took hold of Bossuet’s arm with one hand and took up his cane in the other. Moments later, they were on their way out of their stuffy apartment—“…positively clogged with miasmas, Bossuet! I can’t think why I rented it to begin with…”—and heading towards the park that was a favorite of theirs for an evening stroll.

The story could have ended there. Joly and Bossuet could have had their walk, taken in some fresh air to revitalize their bodies, returned home, and slept the sleep of those confident that they had done all they could to keep themselves well.

The story, however, did not end there; this is where Grantaire entered the picture. Thanks to a run-in with Grantaire, their walk in the park became an evening out. That evening out, courtesy of Grantaire’s generous pockets, soon involved wine and spirits. The wine and spirits then led them to the Corinthe and an overflowing plate of oysters. And by the time the trio had finished their repast, they had the dubious honor of catching dawn from the wrong end… and poor Joly was in worse shape even than before.

* * *

Bossuet winced as Joly leaned over yet another bush to empty the contents of his stomach; it was the third such bush to meet this unfortunate end since they left the Corinthe. Wine did not usually take Joly this harshly; he had the tolerance for alcohol of a man twice his size.

“This isn’t like him.”

Bossuet shook his head at Grantaire’s statement, worry making him far shorter than he normally would have been. “No, it isn’t.” At Grantaire’s raised eyebrow, Bossuet sighed. “He was concerned earlier this evening, worrying that a cholera outbreak was imminent, all but begging me to accompany him out of the city in a search for cleaner air.” At one particularly loud heave, Bossuet flinched. “Perhaps I should have listened, my empty purse be damned.”

Without a word, Grantaire and Bossuet each took one of Joly’s arms, helping him back upright. Joly let out a short moan and turned to bury his face in Bossuet’s chest, entirely disinclined to move any further under his own power. When Bossuet moved to lift Joly, to spare him the last block of the journey, Grantaire stopped him. As he lifted Joly into his arms, he said, quietly, “One great advantage to spending my leisure time in the boxing ring instead of practicing anything of value… strong arms.” A fleeting smile crossed his face. “Besides, with your luck, he’d next empty his stomach on you and the shock would land you both on the ground. That is a further adventure that none of us need, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Only reluctantly, and only because you’re far more likely to be right than wrong on that count.”

With Grantaire’s assistance, they made it the last block and up the stairs to Joly’s apartment without incident, where a truly wretched Joly immediately fled for the chamber pot in an attempt to alleviate his stomach distress by another route. By now, surely, he no longer had anything in his stomach to be rejected, but that didn’t seem to stop the impulse. Bossuet knelt beside him and ran a hand across his forehead and through his hair. His skin was hot and clammy to the touch. Bossuet looked up to meet Grantaire’s gaze and shook his head. This was no ordinary fit of overindulgence.

It took Bossuet and Grantaire both to get Joly changed into a clean nightshirt and tucked into bed. Periodically he roused enough to mumble instructions which one of them would attempt to follow, but not all of the instructions made sense.

Grantaire pulled Bossuet aside after one such command, whispering urgently. “He can’t possibly be serious. Opium? He’s already ill from overindulgence.”

Bossuet, busily stoking a fire in the room’s fireplace, as per an earlier request of Joly’s, looked up at that. For a moment, no response came to mind. It wasn’t until Joly dashed past them on his way back to the chamber pot that Bossuet thought of anything to say. “Grantaire… I hate to ask, seeing as it has been just as long a night for you as it has been for me…” At Grantaire’s encouraging nod, Bossuet finished with, “But I would feel a great deal more comfortable hearing from Combeferre that Joly’s worries about cholera are less imminent than his current illness makes them seem.”

“Say no more.” Gathering up his coat, discarded earlier when Bossuet began his work with the fire, Grantaire headed for the door. “I can guess within three locations where I’ll find him at this time of day… and if by chance I can’t, I can always find Enjolras, and he will certainly know. Either way, wherever he is, I’ll find him, and I’ll bring him.”

Once Grantaire left, Bossuet helped Joly back into his bed, now piled high with as many bedclothes as Bossuet and Grantaire had been able to find—another of Joly’s requests. Watching as Joly curled up under them, one hand still holding tight to Bossuet’s, his face a mask of discomfort, Bossuet cursed his own helplessness. For all Joly’s usual concerns about getting sick and maintaining his general health, he was usually the healthiest of them all. It was usually Joly taking care of Bossuet when he became ill. Bossuet wasn’t used to having the shoe on the other foot, so to speak. Having no idea what else to do apart from stay by his friend’s side, Bossuet sent up a fervent prayer to whichever of Grantaire’s gods might still be listening for such things—that Grantaire would find Combeferre, and find him quickly.

* * *

It was well into the afternoon before Grantaire returned, but to Bossuet’s great relief, he returned with Combeferre in tow, as promised. Joly had been dozing for the better part of an hour by then, exhausted by repeated trips to use the chamber pot in one way or another. He roused just long enough to see who had come and to give Bossuet’s hand a soft squeeze. In turn, Bossuet raised that hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on the palm. Joly’s hand curled against his face for just a moment, his thumb running along the stubble that was just starting to grow there.

Combeferre had such gentle hands. Bossuet had always thought so. They seemed even gentler still as he spared one to give Bossuet’s shoulder a reassuring pat—a kindness Bossuet very much appreciated—before he turned to speak with Joly. Joly was somewhat hoarse by then, his throat brazed raw by illness and exhaustion, and Combeferre had to lean in very close to hear what he said, effectively shutting Bossuet and Grantaire out of the conversation. Still, Bossuet kept hold of Joly’s hand. It was the least he could do to provide what reassurance he could.

Eventually Combeferre rose. At Joly’s nod, Combeferre began to speak. “There is no question that something has caused a great disequilibrium in Joly’s body. The stagnant heat that has lain over the city has caused significant problems with miasmas; we’ve been seeing the effects at the hospital for weeks, something I’m sure Joly has mentioned.” When Bossuet nodded, Combeferre continued. “The good news is that, with your good help, Joly has already done plenty for himself and there is little left that I can recommend that he has not done already, and I feel confident in saying that this is not the start of a cholera epidemic.” Combeferre and Joly shared a glance at that, small smiles alighting on both their faces.

Bossuet began to breathe just a little easier at Combeferre’s words and that exchange of smiles, relief a welcome respite from the worry for Joly that had plagued him since Grantaire had departed on his search.

“In such cases, a purge is generally recommended, but clearly Joly has managed that on his own with no pharmaceutical assistance. For the fever, I would have suggested that we raise the temperature of the room to help him sweat it out. I can see that his bedclothes are veritably soaked in sweat, so clearly that has been accomplished, as well. There is little else I can do here but to stop the natural purge that Joly’s body has been accomplishing on its own.” With that, Combeferre reached into his bag to pull out a small vial and a spoon. “Bossuet, if you would be so kind…?”

Gently, Bossuet helped Joly into a sitting position. Combeferre poured some of the liquid into the spoon and held it out to Joly. Joly took it with a smile and a sigh of relief, settling deeper into Bossuet’s arms as whatever it was took effect. The transformation was incredible. Bossuet turned to face Combeferre, unable to even frame the question. Combeferre, busy cleaning off the spoon, simply smiled. “Tincture of opium. Few things assist with severely loosened bowels as well as opium.”

At that, Grantaire laughed, a great booming laugh. “And here we had been so worried because we thought that his request for opium was a sure sign of delirium!”

From his position snuggled into Bossuet’s arms, Joly let out a small huff of indignation at that. Bossuet merely smiled and held him closer. Of Combeferre, he asked, “So, he will be all right?”

“We have done everything we can medically. All that remains now is for him to rest and allow his body time to restore its natural equilibrium with itself and with the environment.” Combeferre paused, a thoughtful frown crossing his face. “Although, on that note, when he recovers enough to travel, in another day or so, a trip into the country would not go amiss. Anything to get him out from under the influence of the miasma that caused this to begin with.”

Having now two doctors’ opinions on the matter, Bossuet was not foolish enough to protest his empty purse twice, but Grantaire beat him to even mentioning that. “We’ll all go. Invite Musichetta along, as well. Between the four of us, I’m sure we can put together a tidy enough sum to cover the trip.” Bossuet ducked his head, hiding his smile. The translation on a statement like that from Grantaire generally meant that he planned to be far more generous than he should be with his stipend from his family to help cover Bossuet’s portion of the expenses. Bossuet had learned by now not to look a gift Grantaire in the mouth. Grantaire smiled, gripping Bossuet’s shoulder in one large hand, and cupping Joly’s cheek with the other. “It will do us all good to get some fresh, clean air.”

“That it will.” Combeferre finished packing away the opium and the spoon, then turned back to face them. “I’ll come by tomorrow to see if he needs another dose, but truth be told, I believe the worst of this was over before I even arrived. The opium will ease his sleep for the night, and we’ll wait and see what tomorrow brings.”

Grantaire showed Combeferre out, then took up a position on the couch, nearby in case he was needed, but not underfoot. Bossuet borrowed his usual nightshirt from the drawer Joly kept just for him, then slid under the mound of blankets with him. The sleepy, contented way that Joly curled up around him did wonders in dispelling the last of his worry, but he stayed awake most of the night, running a hand through Joly’s hair and down his back in as steady and soothing a motion as he could. 

Towards morning, Joly began arching up into those strokes just as the cats of which he was so fond were wont to do. It wasn’t long before he was blinking himself awake and declaring himself “positively ravenous.” Fortunately for all concerned, Grantaire had already been out and returned with bread, cheese, and jam. As they broke their fast and Grantaire and Joly began to make plans for their trip to the country, this time it was Bossuet’s turn to sag against Joly, barely able to keep awake.

The last thing of which he was aware before falling asleep was Joly’s hands—easily as gentle as Combeferre’s—began stroking down Bossuet’s back as soothingly as Bossuet had done for him the night before. Joly placed a gentle kiss on Bossuet’s head as his eyes slid shut. “Sleep, my dear one. As you watched over me, so it is my turn to watch over you. As it should be.”

Yes. As it should be. Bossuet smiled, tucked himself a little closer into Joly’s side, and let himself drift off to the sounds of his friends’ voices painting a glorious picture of their upcoming trip to the country.

**Author's Note:**

> No beta had their hands on this. All mistakes are purely my own.


End file.
